I'm Sorry
by TsunamiHatake
Summary: A ficlet I wrote as a challenge, considering I don't even ship Draco/ Hermione. Dark, very dark. I suggest having some fluff on hand before reading this... Please leave me reviews, because I have never written Dramione before.. [COMPLETE]


**A/N: Hello world, I've been dormant for too long. I have recently become an admin on a Harry Potter Facebook page, and I admit- it is highly addicting. I have not abandoned my Snarry stories, I just need to finish writing them. Between work and home, I'm all booked up at the time. So to get back in the writing spirit, I took on challenges from the Page I admin. This one I felt needed a bit more recognition, so I decided to see what you guys thought of it. Leave me reviews, please, as I've never written Dramione before :3**

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"I'm Sorry"

Draco/ Hermione

- Tsubaki

"Filthy Mudblood!"

Words he shouted, before he even knew the meaning. Words he picked up from his parents, believing every bite they spooned to him. Words he never knew the history behind- the angst, the depression, the generalization, the hurt.

"Filthy Mudblood!"

Scars he opened, cutting her skin deep; her ruby red blood purging forth in a rage of fire. Scars he ripped with his scathing attitude, not caring how or why they were different, but just knowing it was so. He was pure and she was tainted, not fit to inhabit the same dirt as him.

"Filthy Mudblood!"

Tears she cried, night after night, her honey eyes red from irritation. Tears that stained her Gryffindor pride scarf and made her crisp white sleeves moist with pain. Tears that she hid, determined to remain strong in the eyes of her friends. Her strength pushed her through even in isolation.

"Filthy Mudblood..."

The pain she felt, whenever she saw him. Her heart, heavy. Her mind, confused. The pain she felt when her heart constricted, tighter, and her breaths cut short. The way his eyes flashed, guarded, protecting himself from the world around. Oh, how she wished she could break through to him; whether to love him, or to break him, she did not know.

"Filthy Mudblood..."

His eyes cloud over, his mind shuts off. The Dark Lord is alive, flesh and blood. He watches his father cower in fear and his mother tremble beside him. They are scared, and so is he. The Dark Lord loves to torture; the Dark Lord loves to kill. Which way will he go? What will he do?

"Filthy Mudblood..."

The times have changed, he notes to himself. He questions the values his family instilled in him since infancy. He questions the very foundation he has known as his life. He knows they are wrong, but they cannot fight against it. He hates himself. He hates what his family has become.

"I'm sorry..."

She is his only thought, his only hope. She is the only one who could possibly save him. Her light to his darkness, she is his nightly prayer. He would give anything, anything at all, to take it all back, to right his wrongs.

"I'm sorry..."

He seeks her out, regret fresh on his heart. She is unforgiving, her eyes cold as ice as she flees. He accepts her coldness and burdens it, but he does not give up. He makes it a point to stay in her life, even if she does not wish it so. She is not fazed, unsure of his motives.

"I'm sorry..."

Words he uttered, granite eyes flowing under her hard stare. One look into her depths and he feels stripped bare, nothing left to hide. Her eyes soften under his despair, but she realizes it's not the thrill she was expecting. She too feels regret, circumstances beyond their control pitted them against each other from the start. She says nothing as she leaves, needing time to sort out her feelings, and her sanity.

"I'm sorry..."

The last words he whispered, his despair taking over. The war was long over, but his humanity still remained damaged. Grey eyes found his reflection through the broken mirror, glass shards scattered all around the floor. His left arm numb, blood pooling around his feet. He stumbled, loosing conscious as he fell to the floor. His last thoughts lingered on sleek, ginger hair and beautiful bright golden eyes.

"I'm sorry..."

She whispered, as she held him close in her arms. She ripped her own sweater to cover the wounds that marked his arm, his blood soaking the pure white snow material. Fear taking over her senses, she screamed out; her terror stricken voice reverberating off the empty spaces. Someone will come, she thought. Someone will save him.

She was too late.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, her body shaking, the taste of vomit on her tongue, as Draco died in her arms.


End file.
